Two days.
Two days of the air in my own home feeling like it was being pumped full of static. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten anything that didn’t taste like ash. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the strobe lights of the club, heard the rhythmic pop-pop-pop of the suppressed gunfire, and felt the way Leo had trembled against me in the back of the car.
But it wasn't just the memory of the hit that was rotting my nerves. It was the man currently occupying my third-floor guest suite. Gilmore was treating my house like a five-star resort he’d already paid for in blood. He was cryptic, he was loud, and he was holding the missing pieces of my life over my head like a carrot.
And then there was the blackmailer. The demander in my machine who knew too much about Leo’s father. If that truth cam
